


Sit Together to Watch the Sun Come Through

by cherubim_curls



Category: The Who (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Hotels, Morning Cuddles, So they're hungover and pete wants to cuddle, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touring, because anything with them being remotely nice to each other is fluffy, idk how to tag stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25891333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherubim_curls/pseuds/cherubim_curls
Summary: Waking after a vibrant night, the band struggles with the side effects of their heavy celebration of a show well played. With a day off on tour, Pete wakes to a light, cuddly mood and somehow Roger manages to comply.Just some wholesome early Who where they're all nice to each other and share a hotel room. Imagined circa '65.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Sit Together to Watch the Sun Come Through

The morning after was brutal. Mornings after were _always_ brutal. A continuous sense of thick, lingering fatigue coated the air prevailing with an inability to budge. With an ever-so-present scent of stale alcohol and a musty coating of an eccentric night’s acts, four men lay in disarray in a single cramped room. Yet another dull hotel room accompanying a cast of personalities difficult to label as dull by the common passerby. Hours meshed into one sum of time unknown to the resting musicians as golden rays began to seep onto wrinkled bedsheets through cheap hotel blinds. The situation had become handcrafted by destructive onstage tendencies fueled by purely passion-based antics and thus, was accepted as their normal. 

The temporary stay donned a bed neighboured by a pullout couch accompanied by an array of belongings and bottles scattering the floor. Straying as far as possible from one another, Pete and Roger had taken comfort to the bed for the night. John remained cozy on the other while stray sheets had been pulled atop of Keith who had struggled to the ground in a comfortable frenzy in the late-night hours. The gentle breaths of the young men that bounced off the cramped walls rode to a sudden crescendo as a single inhale and sigh sounded. With a stray ray of sun floating atop his eyes, Roger had awoken with a frown upon his brow. Taking a heartbeat to register the moment, the setting materialized as he slowly rolled to his back and opened his eyes. Only then had he become painfully aware of a dull ache in his head as he let out a hiss through his teeth at the momentary pain. 

_Right._

_This is where we are._

The singer suppressed a groan as he heaved himself up onto his elbows, taking notice to the chill that washed over him. Looking upon the bed his attention wandered to Pete who had resided in the opposite side, hogging the sheets in a desperate embrace. Sending the guitarist a warm smile, he scanned the rest of the room to see the rhythm section in their own peaceful slumbers. As the same smile prevailed on his lips, a few stray locks of his bangs blurred in his peripherals. Squinting at the disruption, he brought a hand to his head only to feel a mass of unruly curls in his palm, soliciting a frustrated groan from Roger. With a pulse in his skull, a reminder of the night before, followed by a grimace at the sensation, he reluctantly swung his legs over the side of the bed. Before he could heave himself up, a gentle murmur had broken the silence as Roger turned to see the source.

“What’re you doing?” Pete slurred softly, rolling over to face the blonde with a mound of sheets tucked into his chest. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Roger started, looking over his shoulder, “I’m going to get ready for the day.”

“What for? There’s no show tonight.”

“Still, no harm in fixing myself up.” 

Pete sent Roger a reluctant pout before allowing himself to take a grounding breath as his own headache began to settle. As his vision cleared upon a brisk rub of his eyes, his friend’s face came into focus. He was quick to notice the state of his hair; the normally smoothed out style had devolved into its natural array of curls. The product of a night of dancing and a bit too much booze. Still in a daze, Pete’s gaze lingered upon the frontman’s hair which he promptly took notice of. Roger turned away with a hint of annoyance, reaching a hand to ruffle his hair in a naïve attempt to cover up his distaste of its state. 

“Yes, it has to do with this,” he gestured half-heartedly, taking Pete’s lack of response as a silent question. 

Lifting himself up onto an elbow, Pete cocked his head at his bandmate, “No, I won’t have it. Stay in bed some longer.”

“Since when did we get married?” Roger scoffed under his breath.

“I mean it,” the dark-haired man responded sternly with a bite in his tone alongside slight exasperation, “Everything aches and I’m not getting up so why should you?”  
A momentary pause of thought. 

“Wasting time fussing over your hair is not a good enough reason.”

Roger let out a chuckle of defeat at his friend’s remarks. He rarely gave in to Pete’s words yet before he could speak, the sound of rustling sheets was heard as a pair of hands gripped his shoulders. Letting out a surprised yelp, Roger felt himself get pulled back onto the mattress and settle into the arms of his bandmate. Reflexively tensing up at the sensation of being surrounded, Roger sent an instinctual jab of his elbow into Pete’s chest. A sharp intake of air through teeth sounded from the guitarist followed by a cry as he recoiled from the blow.

The singer gasped briefly, regret coating his features, “Oh, fuck, I didn’t mean it,” He spoke under his breath.

Moving to look over to him, his eyes darted across his features, searching for signs of harm. Pete simply kept his eyes shut as he bit his lip in attempt to distract from the new pain coinciding with his pounding headache. Forcing himself to open his eyes and take a steadying breath, he shook his head to throw the topic to the side. 

“It’s alright, forget about it,” He heaved as he timidly wrapped his arms around Roger once more. 

Feeling the tentativeness in the warm hands settling onto his torso, the blonde allowed himself to soften to the gentle touch as a reluctant smile coated his lips. He smoothly rolled over to face Pete yet not dare lock eyes. He knew that gazing into them would prove to be much too uncomfortable for the shorter man. Upon a moment of hesitation, the curly-haired singer placed his head into the crook of Pete’s neck, taking a steadying breath to calm any uncertainties he had of the moment. The guitarist found shock lacing his thoughts alongside his fatigue at the insistence of affection from often standoffish man. Allowing himself to bask in his drowsy fit of fondness, the taller man simply smiled in bliss.

“You’re acting different today, Dip.”

“Fuck off, you’re one to talk.”

The two shared a soft laugh under the lazy air of the cramped hotel room while the simple existence of one another’s company made up for their aching limbs and sore heads. A low groan sounded from the other side of the room signalling that John had awoken. Despite already being splayed out, the bassist’s eyes crinkled shut as a stretch wracked his tired body. Not even caring to open his eyes, he sighed through his nose at the unwanted awakening. 

“G’morning” He grumbled with a lack of lustre through a drowsy and dazed tone, not wanting to accept that he had awoken in such a shape. 

Greeted with quiet hums from his bandmates he payed them no mind as he attempted to infer the time of day. In the momentary stillness, Keith awoke with a loud yawn and exaggerated stretch to alert his friends, pulling a chuckle from the three other men. 

“Good morning, lads,” the drummer’s voice was cheery despite the excess in which he indulged the night before. 

A canon of tired replies echoed in the room as time seemed to slow with their gradual awakening. Acknowledging the lack of work for the day brought a certain calm that they rarely were able to pamper themselves with. Keith had been the first to move in the landscape of fatigue, hoisting himself into an upright position on the ground in which he resided to get a look at his friends. Upon spotting Pete and Roger, his eyes lit up in excitement as he brought himself to stand on wobbly knees. Despite the effort, he took brisk steps towards the bed and launched himself onto the cushion atop the cuddling musicians in a fit of gentle laughter. A chorus of disgruntled mumbles were heard as Keith settled between them with arms stretching to find an embrace. Not long after, John had found himself residing behind Roger with hands reaching around him in a hug.  
Even with momentary confusion and discomfort, not a single protest was elicited. Though possibly a product from the minds of hungover young men, the cause remained unimportant. Put simply, the boys had silently decided that their day off was to be spent right; in the arms of those they cared about most.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric taken from How Many Friends
> 
> There needs to be more soft content of them in the world and I hope I was able to provide. Thanks for reading!


End file.
